Offspring
by TriCkTriNiTy
Summary: Terry S. Cruor. A cocky ghost hunter, a lovable woman, and...the daughter of Walter Sullivan?


Copy Cat Mind.

"Are you sure you want to do this, I mean, with all the stories that surround it, you must be mad to want to live here Miss."

"I am sure."

This conversation took place on July 17th in Ashford Falls, two years after the Walter Sullivan scare. The town resumed, like always, back to its normal habits. The old landlord Sunderland considered room 302 a melancholy room, and put chains up on the outside of the door, rather then the inside. The corridor was repainted and the rooms next to 302 were also closed off. When people asked, he told them "Walter Sullivan was here" and because of that, it was rare for him to get a customer to stay there. The only people that stayed were old man Jeff and Ricky on the 1st floor, along with the whole second floor except for the apartments under 302. Nobody was about to take any more chances on that stuff.

Except one person.

Despite Sunderland's lust to keep that place under wraps and gone forever, there was a series of hunters that would come along, but none of which he ever let in. But this one person, Miss Terry S. Cruor, was different. She was a hunter, however, she claimed not only to be an elite, but the lost child of Walter Sullivan. Sunderland at first thought it was just a hoax, and that she was just despirate for a story or some photos. She brought with her papers, forms, files and photos of her family, and told Sunderland that she was the lost child of him. Sunderland threatened to sue her for fraud and she even paid for a blood test. Sure enough, she was the astranged daughter of Walter Sullivan, the 121 killer.

Terry looked up at Sunderland with her dark green eyes and spoke in a cocky sort of manner, but with a sense of calm to her voice. "Anything else you want from me Sunderland? More money? A favor?" Sunderland blushed slightly and shook his head to releave himself of it "No M-Miss Cruor, just… don't drag anyone else into this situation…I hope with you living here the hauntings will stop." And with that, he threw the key to her gently and walked down the stairs at the end of the hall.

Terry looked at her key and smirked as she wiped her short black hair from her face. She inserted the key into the door and turned it, the noises seeming to echo in the hallway. After hearing the click she pulled the key back out and inserted it into the handle lock next, turning it with a small motion of her arm. It too click and the door swung open with a creak from the hindges. She looked about cautiously and stepped inside.

The apartment was cold and dry, almost seeming dead really. It looked just as Henry left it according to Sunderland. The laundry room door was closed and the hinges rusted slightly. There was a small 15x15 television on a table by a chest, frozen in place. There was a cherry wood coffee table and a beige couch with a few rips and tears scattered about. The windows had blinds, but they looked like the metal bar inside of them had rusted. The ceiling fan, though missing a blade, whirled about, cutting the air in the silence. There was a small cabnet on the side of the room, right where the wall ended and the kitchen began. Much like the other bookcases on the opposite side, it was dusty and a few dead flies lay on it. The kitchen was just like her old kitchen, a set of two countertops and a small potty sink. The refridgerator was closed and the motor could be heard, trying to live through the crappy cable work.

Terry set her leather suitcase and her duffle bag down and scanned the room slightly. She took a step inside, followed by another, and another, until she ended up in the living room area. She saw the Tv was caked in dust and what looked like a bit of lime, perhaps from a leak. She sighed heavily , blowing dust into the air with it. She coughed from the dust, which caused more to fly, and she ran into the small corridor that led to the bedroom to avoid it. "Ugh…" she moaned "Horrible place…needs tidy."

She held her breath and stepped into the living room once more, scanning what could go and what could be cleaned up. She cupped her hand over her mouth as she now needed air and exhaled lightly and slowly. The dust blew up again from the air circulation and she closed her eyes "Ruddy place…"

A mouse screetched from the wall and Terry jumped back with a small gasp. She saw it on the ground, crawling around looking for morsels and left over flies. She walked over to it and it looked at her in shock. It backed up a little bit, then ran into the kitchen and jumped into one of the ground level cabnets. Terry slanted her eyes and sighed "Mice." She walked over and picked up her bags once more, keeping the door open and moved them to the couch. She threw them onto it with a groan and they pushed what seemed like a waterfall of dust all over the room. She bolted away from it and out the door. She knew the janitors closet was around the corner.

Meanwhile downstairs, Ricky, the youngest resident, heard of someone moving into the Sullivan house and stepped up the creeking stairs, letting his baggy jeans drag across the steps. He stumbled over his pantleg on one, but he whipped out his hands from his pockets and pushed himself off the ground. His green plaid shirt got a bit dusty, but he didn't mind. He brushed himself off and blinked as he saw her and smiled "Aye it be true then!"

Terry whipped her head around with a small blink, her short bangs climbing into her eyes. She wiped them away and laughed a little bit "Jeeze its not like it's the turn of the century ya know." She stepped into the janitor's closet and grabbed a Swiffer Duster and any cleaning supplies she could find. Ricky stepped over to her to help her get all the supplies into the apartment. When they both made it inside, she plopped them all down on the kitchen counter and sighed "Christ this place is gross!"

Ricky laughed a bit and set the supplies one by one onto the wood chest by the television "Well nobody's been here for a long time lass, yer a right brave one to be jumpin into the nightmare." He adjusted a bottle that fell over and pulled out one of the dusters "Need 'elp?"

Terry nodded with a small smile and wiped some of the dust from her eye. "Sure..didn't catch your name though sir." Ricky smiled a huge grin "Ricky Gravel. Pleased ta meet cha!" He outstretched his dusty hand to shake hers and she walked forward and shook his hand "Terry S Cruor." She said cheerfully. She didn't seem really afraid of the man at all, even though his accent was a bit overbearing. "But "jumping into the nightmare"? "

Ricky nodded his head "Yeah don't ya know? Walter-"

"I know Mr. Gravel, Walter Sullivan lived in this apartment when he was a child. My name is Terry Sullivan Cruor."

Ricky's mouth seemed to fall instantly. The astranged daughter of Walter Sullivan? But he was never sane enough to have a wife…was he? Ricky blinked and adjusted the glasses on his head, moving his blondish bangs out of the way. He smiled a full smile, baring his teeth "Well I guess now that you are livin 'ere, nothing weird should happen I mean… you 'ould end the madness 'round here!"

Terry looked at him blankly "Madness? You mean there are hauntings around here still?" She picked up a mop that she got from the closet and spilled some cleaner on the kitchen floor, then grabbed a bucket and started mopping.

Ricky dusted in the living room almost in a prissy manner. "Aye, never stopped. Every once in a while I see the young Walter ghost moving 'bout the place. He doesn't really do anything though. Its usually the other spirits that lads and lasses have dragged in." The question of is Walter was sane enough to have a kid was still looming about. He shook it from his head and continued to dust a bit.

Terry got on her hands and knees and started scrubbing what looked like blood stains from off the floor. "Just ask it man I won't kill you." Ricky's head popped up "A-Ask what lass?" Terry smirked in a cocky manner and kept scrubbing the almost impossible blood stains "Ask what you want to ask, I can tell you want to ask me something." Ricky looked down at the duster, covered in brown dust and fwapped it against the wall a bit to rid it of the dust. "You remember yer dad? Was he sane at one point to 'ave a kid?" He glanced to her slightly as he continued dusting around the bookshelf.

Terry stopped in the silence of the room. "…I'm a rape child."

Ricky looked to her with the thought of "shit" in the back of his head "…I'm sorry lass…dreadfully sorry…"

Terry shook her head "Nah I'm fine, really I am. It happened too long ago, and my mother is dead now anyway. She survived for a bit, but then he came back and finished the job. Doesn't matter though… I never really loved her." Ricky tried to ignore her since it wasn't his business to care anymore. He already made her tell him this and he wanted to know no more. He nodded and said a small "Aye" when he was done and Terry kept cleaning the floor until it was spotless.


End file.
